


Words

by crownedcrusader



Category: Free!
Genre: M/M, Relationship Struggles, long term aftermath of episode 12
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-20
Updated: 2015-05-20
Packaged: 2018-03-31 09:59:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,787
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3973849
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/crownedcrusader/pseuds/crownedcrusader
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Haru wouldn't call it a panic attack, exactly, but the words won't leave his mind. It had been two years ago, and Makoto had forgiven him just as long ago, but the words--the words won't stop rattling around in his head and colliding with his good sense. </p><p>"All you do is meddle with everyone! Stop sticking your nose in everyone's business!" </p><p>Because Makoto's interference was the way he helped others--and how, /how/ could Haru forgive himself when he'd told Makoto to give up something so integral to himself?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Words

**Author's Note:**

> This is set about a year and a half (plus?) after Skin. You don't need to read it to understand this one. Aside from them being in the same Universe, this and that have nothing to do with each other.

_“I said some horrible things to you. I’m sorry.”_

For Makoto—forgiving, eternally kind Makoto—that had been enough. But for Haru, the guilt of saying those things to his best friend still made his stomach flip.

Two years into college, still roommates, and Haru still heard the words rattle around in his head.

_“All you do is meddle with everyone! Stop sticking your nose into everyone else’s business!”_

It was their first fight, Haru had told Rin. Before they were ever a couple they’d had their first major relationship problem. But Rin—Rin had understood, though fights with Sousuke were commonplace. But he’d understood that the bond Haru and Makoto had was deep; unused to conflict.

And a world where Makoto and Haru were broken apart simply couldn’t be.

So Rin had stepped in like thunder—after the lightning of their clash—and helped Haru sort through his feelings, because there was no way he could figure out how to fix things with Makoto if he couldn’t even understand how to fix his uncertainty about the future.

But when he’d finally found his dream, when he’d finally been able to picture a future of competitive swimming, he’d seen Makoto in the crowd.

Makoto with that same smile he’d always smiled at Haru, but there was something in his eyes, and a promise on his lips. He’d mouthed ‘I love you.’

His dream. Rin had helped him find his dream.

But even now that the dream had come true, Haru couldn’t stop himself from shuddering when he remembered those words. Even now that they were two years past, they still left a bitter taste in his mouth.

It had been so horrible to say—so vile, so venomous to spit at his best friend. It was an insult to Makoto’s very person. Helping others was integral to who Makoto was—and for Haru to insult that, to tell him to stop.

Haru squeezed his eyes shut, unable to finish the thought.

He couldn’t even picture a world where Makoto wasn’t so frustratingly self-sacrificing, so kind.

Even if he was meddlesome—even if he did ‘stick his nose into other peoples’ business’—even if he was the most needlessly involved person on the planet, Makoto’s heart was in the right place where few others’ were. He genuinely cared about people, and he did his best to protect them, to help them where he could.

For just a moment, Haru tried to imagine a Makoto who willingly rejected someone who was in need. A Makoto that didn’t beg Haru to let a stray in, just for the night. A Makoto that didn’t take a train halfway across Japan to help Nagisa and Rei, still, when they asked for help. But even in Haru’s imagination, that unhelpful Makoto just wasn’t Makoto—his eyes didn’t shine. They were dull, lifeless; a plastered on smile took over his face, rubbing in the apathy of imaginary Makoto’s very personality, because what would Makoto even be if his kindness, his very soul, was taken from him—

“Are you alright?”

Haru suddenly realized that he’d been staring into the distance for several minutes, not even blinking. He looked up, then, to find a teammate holding out a hand.

For a split second, Haru pictured Makoto in that teammate’s place, extending his hand once more to pull him from the pool.

Haru was startled when his heart quickened, pained and yearning, for Makoto to actually be there, extending his hand for him.

Not that Haru deserved it, he reminded himself. No—the echo of those vile words to Makoto rebounded again and again and again, and Haru forced self-revulsion down as he took his teammate’s hand. “Yeah. Thanks,” he said, having to remind himself to be polite.

His teammate didn’t look convinced, but he didn’t speak up. Instead, he just helped Haru to his feet, nodded, then went back to drying himself off. Haru looked down to find a towel around his own waist. He hardly recalled putting it on—he couldn’t even remember getting out of the water.

How long had he been so out of it?

It was a useless thought, and so he shook it off. It was already late. He needed to go home—home, to his dorm, to Makoto.

To Makoto.

Haru closed his eyes, heart panging at the thought. Makoto, standing in the doorway and letting Haru in, immediately getting a towel and finishing up the job of drying Haru’s hair. Makoto, chiding him for not getting it dried all the way before coming back. Makoto, smiling and pressing a soft kiss to his forehead as he laid down and pulled Haru towards his chest and—

No, Haru definitely didn’t deserve such kindness.

He’d told Makoto to stop being so kind, to stop ‘meddling’ with people, to stop interfering, to stop all the things that made Makoto the infinitely kind person that he was.

And now—even now that they were together, boyfriends, roommates in college—Haru still hadn’t told Makoto that he loved him. Yet he’d said such poisonous words before—and there was nothing Haru was saying now that could be the antidote—nothing kind enough, nothing good enough for Makoto to hear that would fix all the pain Haru must have caused when he’d said those things.

Haru’s heart clenched as the palm of his hand pressed to the doorknob.

Instead of going inside, he hesitated in front of the door for a full minute before taking an unsteady step backwards and taking a deep breath.

On impulse, he took his phone out and sent Makoto a text.

[im going out for a jog. be back later.]

Suddenly it didn’t matter that his hair was wet, that he was dressed in his jammers and a t-shirt, that he was tired from a long practice. Haru walked out of the dorms, and when he’d left the building, he immediately started to jog.

He needed to be anywhere but where Makoto was, because he didn’t deserve Makoto’s kindness, his company or tolerance or even a glance in his direction, because he’d told his best friend—now his boyfriend, though they hadn’t been that back then—to stop being who he was.

Haru was miles from the dorms before he stopped running.

A sudden strain on his knee made him slow to a stop next to a bench. He sat, massaged his knee, and tried to catch his breath. It wasn’t until he checked his phone to see the time that he saw the number of unread messages from his boyfriend.

7:13 [alright, have a good run!]

7:25 [do you want me to make dinner for you? text me when you’re on your way back so I can start it for you!]

7:28 [how far are you planning on running? please don’t strain yourself!]

7:45 [haru, are you heading back soon?]

And, most recently,

7:47 [haru, I can come pick you up if you want. if you haven’t headed back yet, I’ll come pick you up, ok?]

Haru’s fingers were shaking a little as he replied [no its alright] and stood up. His knee was a little strained, but he could certainly still walk on it. And the idea of Makoto going out of his way to help him home was enough to turn his stomach. No. Haru couldn’t handle Makoto using that undeserved kindness on him.

Makoto might have forgiven Haru for those venomous words, but Haru couldn’t forgive himself.

The daydream image of Makoto’s lifeless eyes was enough to choke him for a moment, and Haru coughed and spit and started running again, this time back towards their dorm.

He jogged at a much slower pace, minding his knee, but with two miles still to go, Haru had to start walking rather than running.

Makoto, with good timing as ever, texted,

7:59 [Haru… if you’re not back in a few minutes I’m going to look for you, okay?]

Haru gulped, chest constricting. Makoto had used proper text language—he never did that. So Haru did the only thing he could think to do.

[im not far from the dorms]

[ill be back soon]

[dont look for me, ok?]

 It was practically a formula to make Makoto worry, but Haru felt sick and cold and those words in his head— _‘All you do is meddlewith everyone! Stop stickingyournose into everyone’sbusiness!’ you deserve better you deserve better im so sorry makoto i shouldn’t have said those things you deserve better_ —were giving him a headache, and he couldn’t stand the thought of Makoto helping him.

Not when he’d been so horrible to him before.

\--

8:07 [Haru, I can’t find you anywhere. Come meet me at the campus library, please?]

8:11 [Haru, please, these messages are saying ‘delivered’ so I know you’re getting them.]

8:13 [It’s dark out here…]

8:16 [Are you angry with me?]

It was the last message that really swayed Haru. He choked down his worry and replied, [im outside the library.]

And he was. He had been since shortly after Makoto had sent the message asking him to come to the library. But even though he could see Makoto, Makoto couldn’t see him, and Haru couldn’t work up the courage to walk up to him.

But those last few messages—he could see Makoto hesitate, see him eventually sit down on the library steps and hunch over, defeated.

He could see the hurt building and Haru couldn’t stand it.

So the last message swayed him—the question of him being angry, coupled with Makoto’s shoulders hunched over on himself, the shaking (was he cold? Crying? Haru’s heart clenched painfully)—and Haru waited until Makoto got his reply before speaking to him.

“Makoto.”

And his boyfriend swiveled around fast enough to unbalance him. “Haru!” Makoto choked out, voice thick with worry. “Are you alright? You were gone for a while. It’s,” he paused, composed himself, tried to continue, “It’s not good to overtrain, right?”

Haru looked at the ground. He was sure his guilty face would give him away, but Makoto was upset and wasn’t wearing his glasses and it was dark; before Makoto could even get a good look at him, Haru turned his face away. “I.” He gulped. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

Makoto’s face fell, but he recovered quickly enough, and Haru squeezed his eyes shut to force out images of that fake Makoto, the one that was empty and devoid of life. He forced out the sight of real Makoto, too—the past Makoto, the one who had gripped his wrist to keep him from leaving and then had let him go, anyways, with the words _‘I have decided. I’m going to a university in Tokyo.’_

Haru’s heart skipped a beat and had trouble readjusting, and Haru fixed his focus on the ground.

“Let’s go home.”

Makoto seemed surprised at the blatant avoidance of his questions, but he didn’t argue.

Instead, he offered Haru a hand. When the dark haired boy didn’t resist, Makoto took it, laced their fingers together, and walked his boyfriend back to the dorms.

\--

“Haru, you’re going to be sick tomorrow,” Makoto sighed, drying Haru’s hair while they sat on his, Haru’s, bed. It paralleled how Haru had thought going home would feel, earlier, but things were quieter in their dorm than he’d ever thought it could be, and the mood felt heavy. “And your knee… It looks a little red. Swollen, maybe… Did you keep running even after it started to hurt?”

Haru turned his face away, eyes fixed at the bed across from them. Makoto’s bed.

Things were absolutely silent in their room for a while, save for the sound of the towel on Haru’s wet hair and the clock in the corner.

It left plenty of space for Haru’s thoughts to spiral down again, and it didn’t take long for him to get too caught up in the past. And those words—those vile _words_ , that poison he’d spewed at his most important person—echoed again.

_“All you do is meddle with everyone! Stop sticking your nose in everyone’s business!”_

This time Haru physically shuddered, eyes squeezing shut on reflex.

When he opened them, though, he was staring into the concerned green eyes of his best friend. His boyfriend. His most important person. His everything.

“Haru?” Makoto asked, gently putting a hand on his shoulder. “I… Understand if you still don’t want to talk, but…” He paused, choosing his words carefully. “But I think it might help if you tried to talk. We always tell each other everything, don’t we?”

Haru gulped, bile rising in his throat at the very thought of having this conversation.

The very last thing Makoto needed was to know that Haru still felt guilty about something that had happened over two years ago.

But that concerned look on Makoto’s face.

Haru would sink to the bottom of the ocean for that face.

“I,” Haru started, choking on his words. He swallowed down the unnecessary words, gulped down the guilt, coughed out what he needed to say. “I was thinking. The fireworks. When you told me you were going to a university in Tokyo.”

Confusion set in, then. And confusion was so much better than concern, because confusion Haru could clarify. Concern would be present even after Haru tried to console his boyfriend.

“What I said to you.” Haru closed his eyes. “I couldn’t. It wouldn’t get out of my head. I’m—I’m sorry, Makoto. I’m so sorry.”

Haru’s eyes stayed closed, but the rest of his senses were filled, inexplicably, with Makoto.

“Oh, Haru,” was all Makoto said as his arms wrapped around him, the scent of his shampoo and detergent and body wash and something deeply Makoto enveloping him. Haru was somewhat surprised to feel his boyfriend’s lips press against his shoulder but Haru supposed it was the easiest thing within reach.

“I’m sorry,” Haru repeated. “I shouldn’t have. I should never have said something like that to you.” Haru couldn’t understand why his words were so choppy but, for the situation, he was amazed he could speak at all. “I’m sorry, Makoto, I. I’m just so sorry.”

It felt like he was babbling at that point, and Haru was Makoto interrupted. “Haru—Haru, it’s okay. I forgave you for that a long time ago. I forgave you as soon as you said them. You know that, right?”

“You shouldn’t have. You,” and his tongue tripped over the words as they tumbled out, “You, I told you that you were meddlesome, that you shouldn’t try to help people, that you should give up the things that make you _you_ , that you shouldn’t be Makoto anymore, I, you can’t forgive me for that.”

It was a rush of information, and Makoto honestly looked a little overloaded. But Haru was more overloaded, and Makoto gave his boyfriend a quick, comforting kiss, half to get him to quiet down. “Haru.” He sighed, those soft green eyes looking at him with such compassion, such kindness, that Haru could have cried. “You only told me that I was meddlesome. You said I should stop sticking my nose in other peoples’ business.”

And that—Haru knew Makoto remembered, word for word, and that was enough to tell Haru that the words had stuck with Makoto, too.

But before he could apologize again, Makoto shook his head. “You told me those things, Haru. Not anything else. You were angry with me for telling you anything about what you should do. Nothing about that said that I needed to stop being kind, did it?”

It wasn’t rhetorical, but Haru didn’t answer.

“I think,” Makoto continued, choosing his words carefully, “That you’re putting more into those words than you meant at the time.”

Haru didn’t answer that time, either, so his boyfriend sighed and pulled him against his chest. It was always the place where Haru felt safest, and Makoto knew that. So he planned to keep him there until he felt safe again.

It was several minutes before Haru’s pulse and breathing had slowed and Makoto tried to speak again. “You weren’t totally wrong, you know.” At Haru’s momentary confusion, Makoto just smiled, quietly urging him to listen, to hear him out. “Some things I shouldn’t have tried to meddle with. And what you said after, about—about how I shouldn’t have tried to tell you things when I hadn’t figured them out for myself yet—that… It was true, a little. Just a little. Not about that, maybe, but other things. I’ve always been wishy-washy, and you’d never been hesitant to tell me that I was before.” He pressed a quick kiss against Haru’s forehead. “The things you said were a little hurtful, and I won’t try to say that they weren’t. But, Haru.”

And he pulled away just enough to look at his boyfriend—to _really_ look. He waited until Haru met his eyes before he continued.

“After that—you did something that I never thought you’d do. You found your dream and—and you took that first step towards me. I’d done that for you as much as I could before, and you… apologized to me, Haru. I couldn’t stop thinking about it.” Makoto paused, embarrassed, and with some hesitancy, added, “That was when I decided that I… might have a chance, if I told you my feelings for you were romantic and not only platonic.” 

Haru was sure he’d misheard, and he furrowed his brows. “…After what I said to you?”

Makoto shook his head, then took Haru’s hand and gently kissed his knuckles. “No. After you apologized. You showed me that you valued our friendship enough to—to take that first step and apologize after our first fight. I had tried to act like we hadn’t even fought, but… you acknowledged it, and worked to make it right.” Makoto’s cheeks dusted with pink. “So I decided that—that if you could handle a fight like that, then maybe you would at least reject my confession kindly, and we wouldn’t lose our friendship.”

“I…” Haru stared at his best friend—his boyfriend, his everything—and suddenly his heart was full to bursting, and he pulled him into a kiss. It wasn’t the most skilled, no, nor the most long-lasting, but Haru hoped it gave Makoto the same comfort that it gave him. “I’m sorry it took that to tell you that I would always want to be your friend.”

To his surprise, Makoto smiled. Amused—not compassionate. “I’m glad that you decided to accept my other feelings, too.”

“I’m glad I returned them.” Haru looked at Makoto seriously, then pulled him into an embrace. He was quiet for a moment, throat a little tight, but he wanted to get the words out, for Makoto. “I. I love you, Makoto.”

“I love you, too.”

It was amazing to Haru how easily the words came out. After all, in the two years they’d been together since the months after Haru’s trip to Australia with Rin, they had never once said ‘I love you.’

It had been nonverbal, sure. It was in every action, every ‘Let’s apply to be roommates,’ every ‘Mackerel again? At least I don’t have ramen every day,’ every ‘Makoto is perfect just as he is,’ every ‘Don’t overwork yourself in training today!’

Never verbal until now.

Haru closed his eyes and rested his forehead against Makoto’s chest.

He didn’t think he could be any more grateful for the boyfriend he had, but then, then Makoto went and did things like this—made him feel more loved than anyone else in the world—made him feel safe, comfortable, happy—like there was nothing in the world that could hurt him.

And then Haru hissed in pain when Makoto accidentally rested his hand on his hurt knee.

That brought the pair of them back to the present, and Makoto brushed the hair out of Haru’s eyes before pressing a quick kiss to his forehead. “You’re still probably going to be sick tomorrow. And this probably needs some ice—or some heat. Which would make you feel better, Haru?” Makoto asked, the same kindness in his eyes as always.

Haru didn’t even hesitate before saying, “You.”

Makoto flushed a delicate pink, quick downplays and ‘really, now, tell me what you want’ s, but Haru knew he’d appreciated the gesture. Maybe sometimes, he decided, with things like this—maybe sometimes it would be nice for Makoto to hear some of the things Haru had trouble saying.

So Haru pulled Makoto into another kiss, and gently rested one of Makoto’s hands—one of his giant, soft, gentle hands—onto his knee and held it there. “You’re all I need.”

And that was that.

\--

The next morning, Haru was indeed sick, and his knee still felt sore when he walked on it. Makoto called his trainer for him and informed him that he couldn’t swim today because he’d hurt his knee last night.

Makoto had to deal with an entirely undeserved lecture about keeping Haru healthy—after all, this time Makoto hadn’t caused it!—but Haru couldn’t help but smile as he saw the grimace on Makoto’s face, the mouthed ‘Sorry!’ when he couldn’t just hang up on Haru’s coach.

How like his boyfriend, to take the fall for him, even in the small things.

And it struck Haru, then, that if he didn’t let Makoto help him—if he ran away like last night and refused to let Makoto help him home—then he was erasing that part of Makoto.

Just like he’d been afraid of.

If he didn’t let Makoto be there for him, like Makoto wanted to—then wasn’t he shutting down Makoto’s kindness just as much as he had that night? How different was ignoring Makoto’s offers to telling him that he was meddlesome?

Both refused to acknowledge Makoto’s assistance as help, and Makoto’s kindness was such an integral part of him. No wonder he looked so pained when he couldn’t help Haru.

Haru closed his eyes, then, a peaceful expression on his face. He wouldn’t ever take advantage of Makoto’s kindness, no, never—but he decided not to try to shut it down again.

Makoto, after all, was _Makoto_.

That kindness was a part of him. And Haru would be hard pressed to try to take it away from him even if Haru felt like he didn’t deserve it.

Because the crux of it was that Haru _didn’t_ deserve it. But Makoto still wanted to give it. And if Haru loved him, then he would never try to take that away from him.

 

 

 


End file.
